


bloodstains on my teeth

by Bloodsbane



Series: tangled weeds in concrete cracks [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Asexual Character, Complicated Relationships, Dom/sub, F/M, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse (past/mentioned), Rough Sex, Safeword Use, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Unhealthy Relationships (past/mentioned), Violent Thoughts, anger management issues, aroace Daisy, daisy having a rough time and making bad decisions, nonromantic jondaisy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/pseuds/Bloodsbane
Summary: When Jon texts her that Saturday asking to meet up, Daisy knows -- she knows, she knows -- that she shouldn’t say yes. She knows it down to her bones. She texts him back anyway and tries not to dwell on how her heartbeat picks up just a tick, how she is suddenly very aware of the pulse in her neck, her wrists.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Series: tangled weeds in concrete cracks [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898941
Comments: 14
Kudos: 73





	bloodstains on my teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Aw man... okay. I'm very excited about this one, but uhm A Lot happens in this segment. Knowledge of the series is greatly encouraged, but not exactly required to read this one. 
> 
> Please heed the tags! I'll also post a bit of a cw/summary thing in the end notes, because again... uh... quite a lot happens here. Messy messy. I hope yall enjoy it though!
> 
> (big special thanks to osiris for beta reading!!)

Daisy’s driving home, stopped at a light, when she realizes she’s absolutely fucking furious. It’s the tension she feels in her shoulders; it’s her scowl in the warped reflection of her front window, where the world outside is all blurred lights and darkness. It’s the white of her knuckles on the wheel, and wanting to lean forward to bite at the leather. It’s the pure, rabid satisfaction in imagining her jaw tightening on the tough material, tighter than her hands, until her teeth dig in, until they crack and break apart so she can taste her own blood. **  
**

And it’s stupid, which makes her angrier. She shouldn’t be mad, there’s no reason to be mad. Only-

On Wednesdays, sometimes, she meets with a sub at his place. The sessions are pretty short. They’re both ready for it once Daisy arrives at the end of her afternoon shift, and she’s out of the flat before dinnertime. This fellow in particular has always expressed his appreciation of Daisy in ways that make her roll her eyes or clench her teeth, biting back reprimands that simply would not fit the scene. It doesn’t matter if the compliments are meant to be backhanded; Daisy has always forced herself not to care. They don’t hurt her, they don’t matter. As if she gives a shit what he thinks. What’s important is that she gives him what he wants so that she can get hers back, and they can part ways satisfied. 

But this time. This time had been- good, almost. Maybe even fun. He was a bratty little thing who liked being put in his place by a woman, especially one so much stronger and taller than he was. It got him off, that she was a woman who could undeniably dominate him. Daisy has never cared much. She gets it -- whatever. This time, though, he hadn’t demanded the sort of dirty talk that beat the dynamic dead, until the inherent misogyny coloring every scene throbbed dully in the back of Daisy’s mind, like a little bruise. No, he’d been good, had been satisfied with her, and Daisy had enjoyed herself. Until. 

“Move your fat ass over,” he’d said with a laugh, gesturing for her to shift on the bed so he could reach something in a drawer. The mood had been light. He’d patted her shoulder, casual in a way that could almost be called friendly. 

Daisy had wanted to hit him right then. He’d been slightly behind her, reaching, not looking at her. She could have twisted and driven her elbow into his cheekbone. She could have broken his jaw. She’d wanted to beat him bloody and snarl _Don’t call me fatass._

And that- it was- Daisy shouldn’t have cared. It should have rolled off her shoulders, and she should have been able to say goodbye out loud rather than give just a simple nod on her way out the door. But now she could feel the anger simmering in her stomach, something heavy and familiar, so acidic she thought it might rise like bale up her throat, metal-sweet and awful. She wished she could expel it, have the boiling mix of hatred and shame spill past her teeth until it was outside of her body. 

Because Daisy shouldn’t- _doesn’t_ care. She hasn’t cared for a long time. She isn't a fucking child anymore, living in baggy jeans, constantly tugging the hem of her shirt. Why the everloving fuck would she care about some idiot calling her fat? 

When Daisy pulls up in front of her complex, she leaves the motor running. Rolling down the window, she sticks her head out, resting it on crossed arms. She closes her eyes. Breathes: _one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten._ In, then out. Daisy keeps her eyes closed, keeps breathing, and listens to the quiet. 

There’s the rumbling of the engine, and the warm vibrations that come with it, felt in every spot where her body rests against the car. There’s the faint scent of gasoline and grime, damp concrete, greenery. Somewhere, in the distance, a dog barks. Cars pass up and down the road. Somewhere in the complex, a door opens, and faint voices float around in the nighttime before the door is shut again, and they are gone. 

Daisy’s heart is still beating a bit too quickly when she finally leaves her car, but she can see the depth of the evening in all its color, black and blue and muddy grey. 

* * *

Daisy refused to acknowledge that it was the start of something, mainly because the idea of such a meaningless off-hand comment triggering any sort of relapse was absurd at best and insulting at worst. 

Yet here she is, getting reprimanded from her supervisor, with rage hot in her lungs. She’s a full foot than the woman currently ripping her a new one -- it would be so easy for Daisy to shout back, to get big and mean and-

But no, she can’t. She tries to count her breaths, but it’s difficult to keep them even. This isn’t even her fucking _fault_ , it wasn’t her fault that she got called away from her section at just the wrong moment! Goddamn teenagers and their goddamn cigarettes. Who in the hell decides smoking in a garden exhibit is a smart idea? 

The fire outside had been small, and easily put out once one of the other guests had shouted, pointing it out to security. But the fire in Daisy still burns even as she leaves work. She catches sight of the pair of teens on her way out, waiting near the back office to receive their lifetime ban from the museum. The image of smacking them both upside the head, so hard they fall off the bench, invades Daisy’s mind. She flees to her car, thoughts of cigarette burns and panicked expressions haunting her the rest of the day. 

Daisy goes home. Daisy does her deep breaths, her counting, her slow and easy yoga poses. She cooks dinner, eats it in front of the tv, and manages to read two chapters of her book before forcing herself to empty her mind and go to bed early. 

Yet the embers lie in wait, hot and smoldering, beneath dark ashes. 

* * *

When Jon texts her that Saturday asking to meet up, Daisy knows -- she knows, she _knows_ \-- that she shouldn’t say yes. She knows it down to her bones. She texts him back anyway and tries not to dwell on how her heartbeat picks up just a tick, how she is suddenly very aware of the pulse in her neck, her wrists. 

Jon explains in a text following her confirmation: it could be a quick session, he’d just had a stressful couple of days at work, and it was affecting his ability to get anything done over the weekend. Half of Daisy wants to start right then, dig her teeth into the open wound and taste the blood she could already smell. She wants to degrade him for being more trouble than he’s worth, to complain about how it would be time out of her day to come punish him, to mock him for his inability to j _ust fucking relax_ , it’s a goddamn _Saturday-_

Daisy doesn’t do any of that. But she texts him back and tells him yes, which is really just as bad. 

* * *

It’s no surprise how the evening plays out. 

Daisy is let into Jon’s apartment, and instead of waiting for any acknowledgement or pleasantries, he immediately crosses his arms and starts going off about meaningless bullshit that happened during his work week. It’s just as much setting the stage for their scene as it is genuine venting. It’s expected. It makes Daisy grit her teeth as she watches him. It reminds her of what happened last time. 

When the two of them first started doing this, Jon had been an undoubtedly bratty sub. He’d done kink like this before, a few times, with old partners or friends. He had described the experiences as ‘interesting, but largely unsatisfactory.’ 

Jon had been reluctant to try the meetup -- Daisy recognized that much before even talking to him. He’d been on guard and hostile when she approached him, yet receptive as she described in her flat, easy way, why he appealed to her as a sub, and what she preferred, and what he could expect from her. It hadn’t taken too much negotiation to get him to agree to another meeting. 

The first few times had been tricky and frustrating for the both of them, and for a long time, it colored their relationship. Jon was unwilling to communicate; Daisy frequently needed to disengage or risk getting riled up. More than once Jon used his safeword before anything sexual even happened. And that was fair, and expected, and what Daisy wanted -- what she should want. But it kept happening, and she kept wondering why, and he kept being awful at explaining anything to her. 

It felt like she couldn’t trust him or herself. It felt like he was constantly hiding something from her, judging her, waiting for her to make the exact wrong move so he had an excuse to turn on her. Daisy wanted things to work, because honestly Jon was perfect for her: small, submissive (theoretically), and extremely unlikely to form a sexual dependence on her or any sort of romantic attraction. They were both ace, which was a magnificent bonus, and he didn’t even bat an eye when she firmly emphasized her dislike of scenes that leaned too hard on performative romance. On paper, they were quite a solid match. 

In practice, they were a mess. 

Of course it came to a head. Of course Daisy let it all get to her, let it get the best of her. The second Jon finally, finally gave her an inch, she’d dug her teeth in and dared him to struggle. 

He’d struggled. Jon had used his safeword, had pushed her away, had snarled back at her. And Daisy, burning with indignance and vindication and aimless, fervent anger, had slapped him. Hard enough to send him reeling, to trip and fall over the table, sending papers scattering, and a cup to fall and crack on the floor. 

The way he’d looked at her- Daisy had barely been able to unclench her jaw long enough to hiss an apology. Had she meant it, at the time? She couldn’t remember. But that look in his eyes -- the fear -- it was so terribly familiar, and it made her feel so very small. Pitiful. _Weak_. 

“You should leave,” he’d said, holding his cheek. And he was right. So Daisy left.

That should have been the end of it all, really. Daisy fell into a bit of a spiral after that _(pathetic, useless, why did she even bother)_ , eating herself alive with self-loathing -- but it was better than subjecting anyone else in her life to the mood swings. Not that there were many others in her life, at that point. She and Basira were… It was complicated. 

Then, suddenly, about a month later, Jon just… texted her again. Asked if they could meet somewhere public so they could talk. Feeling like she owed him that much, and morbidly curious, Daisy had agreed. 

It was a long conversation, with a lot of back and forth. Jon wanted to try again. Daisy did not want to repeat what had happened, and felt it was inevitable. Jon was stubborn, and Daisy… 

Daisy was weak. 

That’s why Daisy is here, now, with Jon. It’s why she takes him by the neck and shoves him into the back of the couch, growling at him, telling him to shut up already, pulling his pants down so she can finger his cock and rut against his ass as he struggles. 

Because she’s weak. 

That’s why she fingers him with her spit, mostly ignoring any sound he makes that isn’t their safeword. Jon squirms and it feeds that hot, ugly thing that lives in Daisy. She is weak for his smallness, for his inability to break away from her, for the way he trembles and cries out under her fingers. She grabs his hair and practically drags him to the bedroom, where a strap-on and a bottle of lube wait on the nightstand. 

It all happens so fast. Every inch of Daisy feels present, feels dangerous, like a live wire. She uses the lube but stretches Jon roughly. She barely remembers doing it. One minute he’s coming just from her fingers, gasping, the next she’s shoving into him, his hair tangled in her fist, and he’s shouting, clawing at the sheets, panting and crying tears, but he hasn’t said the word yet, Daisy doesn’t stop yet, she can’t stop, she wants to break him on her cock, she wants to rip his hair, she wants to bite into his skin and make it bruise, make it bleed, she wants to crush him underneath her weight, heavy and solid, so much more than he is, he’s so small she could tear him to pieces she wants to fuck him until he screams and begs her to stop and she won’t stop she wants to make him pay for all of it and make him feel the burning and she can feel the blood and taste it salty metal-sweet and it’s rushing in her ears and it’s loud and she sees it she sees it she sees-

“Red.” 

Daisy chokes on the blood. 

“R-red, red.” 

She gasps and loosens her grip and tries to pull away, feeling too much, everything and nothing, a numbness.

“Red,” she sobs, and shrinks. There’s something, somewhere, rumbling. Hands on her face, Daisy falls into the dark, but it’s not soothing, it’s pulsing and it hurts her chest, and she can still taste the blood. 

For a long while Daisy is lost to it, just like before, over and over again lost and drowning in it. It feels like she’s dying, like she’ll die, like her heart is going to burst and she’ll be blood all on the inside. Nausea strikes her, waves of it rolling through her body, and she sways, becoming detached, wanting to vomit it all out so that she’s not so heavy and she can float away.

The rumbling keeps on. It calls to her, to the beating and her breaths. Daisy can’t hear it, quite, but it calls and she tries to listen, she really does. She follows along and tries to breathe. She can’t breathe. The voice -- it’s a voice? -- tells her to breathe. Daisy tries again. 

Gradually, the darkness fades, and so does her heartbeat and the fear. She tries to listen to something else. There’s the voice, incomprehensible, but consistent. There’s something else, something farther away -- birds? There’s the sound of passing cars. Daisy tries to count aloud and isn’t sure- she doesn’t recognize the voice. 

“Yes, yes… That’s good, Daisy… Keep counting, keep your breathing steady…” 

That voice. She knows that voice. Jon. Oh, god, Jon.

“Sorry,” she says. Her voice sounds small and dead. “Sorry, sorry.” 

“Daisy, no, it’s fine-”

“No,” she moans, shaking in despair.

“Daisy, just keep- keep breathing with me.” A hand finds hers, bringing it somewhere flat and firm and soft. Skin. Beneath it, a heartbeat not her own. “Can you feel it? Deep breaths.” 

“Deep- deep breaths.”

“Yes, deep breaths. Follow me.” 

Daisy listens and follows. At some point, she pulls her hand away from her face, staring down at her lap. She’s trembling. She’s crying, too -- she sees the tears falling onto her skin. The strap-on is still wet with lube, and looking at it fills Daisy with disgust. She shoves herself off the bed and frantically removes it, kicking it away, trying not to think about her own nakedness or how unsettled she feels.

“Daisy?” 

She can’t look at him. “I should go,” she says, feeling lost, feeling like the only thing she has is that simple fact. 

“No- no, Daisy, it’s fine -- please stay.” 

Guilt chokes her up, making it impossible to reply. 

“Can you come back on the bed, please? Or- ah, do you want to put on pants first?” 

Daisy looks down, realizing she’s started to tug her shirt down to cover her front. She puts a hand over her eyes, taking a deep, desperate breath.

“Do- do you-” She hears Jon falter, fumble for words. “I… I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do…” 

“Why the hell are you apologizing?” Daisy gasps, confused. She pulls her hand away to look at him before she remembers how terrified she is of his eyes. But he’s not making that face, not like before. His eyes, dark and wide, still look scared, but… it’s not the same kind of fear. 

“You’re upset,” he says, as if that makes any sense. 

“Like it’s your fucking fault!?” Daisy snaps. She feels jittery, ready to crumble into dust. “You- you-” Her teeth click as she shuts her mouth, willing herself to shut up, stop. 

“I don’t know what happened, but you’re obviously upset,” Jon replies, his voice a bit more firm now. “So come over here so I can help.”

“I don’t need your help,” Daisy says. 

“Let me help anyway,” Jon tells her. Shuffling forward slightly on the bed, he reaches out a hand. Daisy flinches. “Or don’t,” he mutters, pulling away. “...Do you want to leave?”

“I should,” Daisy says. “I should go, and I shouldn’t come back this time.”

“Or you can stay,” Jon says, his voice quiet. “I’d rather you stayed.”

“Why?” Daisy doesn’t understand. She still tastes blood in her mouth. “Why?” 

“...Because I want you to stay. And- and I think it’d be better, for the both of us, if you did.” 

She stares at the floor, face set like stone. Then Jon quietly beckons, “Please, Daisy.” 

All at once, the fight leaves her. 

Daisy can’t look at him, but she lets him tug her, gently, back onto the bed. He’s still naked from the waist down, and she’s only in her shirt, and she feels uncomfortable and dirty and awful, like she occupies entirely too much space, like she should fall into herself and disappear. There’s the phantom sensation of weight pressing down on her, smothering and damp. 

Jon pulls the blanket around himself, then gently places some of it across Daisy’s lap. At length, he asks, “Can you explain what happened?” 

“...I’ve uh… I shouldn’t have said I’d come over. Knew it was going to go badly. Sorry.”

“But why? It… It wasn’t anything I did, was it?”

“You didn’t do a damn thing, Jon. I… I had a bad week. Some shit happened- dumb shit. It shouldn't have- it-" Daisy can only shake her head. “Stupid. I’m a fucking idiot-”

“You’re not.” Jon was trying to keep his voice firm, despite the way he’s shaking -- Daisy can feel it from the hand resting on her shoulder. “Yes, fine, we shouldn’t have done something so intense tonight. You should have let me know you were upset-” Jon huffs, a little laugh. “Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”

“Shut up,” Daisy grumbles. 

“But look… nothing really bad happened, did it?” 

Daisy wants to shake him, grab his slender shoulders and shake the nonsense out of his skull. “I was going to hurt you!” 

“But you didn’t,” he says.

“I wanted to-”

“But you didn’t. You stopped. You used your safeword and you stopped.” Jon pulls away, but Daisy feels him shift on the bed, and when he speaks, his voice is a bit closer. “This isn’t like last time, Daisy,” he insists, very gently. “It’s not great that it happened… but it’s better, right? You stopped. You didn’t hurt me.” 

“I could have.” 

“You always have every opportunity to hurt me,” Jon tells her, deadpan. “Every time I let you into my flat, there’s nothing to stop you hurting me. Every time I climb into your car and let you drive me somewhere, you could hurt me. You don’t.” 

“...You have bad tastes in doms,” is all Daisy can think to say, which somehow makes Jon laugh. It tugs something like amusement out of her chest, something that isn’t fire or dark, ashy despair. “Jon.”

“Yes?”

“I think… A, uh, a break, maybe. Until I’m… right in the head again.” 

“Ah. Okay- I mean, of course.” 

“This has probably been a weird night for you.” 

“Not exactly what I was expecting, no,” Jon sighs, but he settles with his side carefully resting on her’s. “Do you want to…?”

“No.” Daisy takes a deep breath, sighing roughly. “I just- I was just mad. And- upset, at things. Dumb things. They don’t matter, I’ll get over it, it’ll… pass. I’m… I have ways of, uh, dealing with it. I just need to try harder. I can’t- I’ll do better.” 

“Okay.” 

“I can do better,” Daisy tells herself, and wants to believe it. But she let her anger and urges get the better of her; she still tried to take advantage of Jon. Does it matter that she stopped? She shouldn’t have put either of them in this situation in the first place. 

But if Jon isn’t hurt, if Jon thinks it’s enough that she did safeword, that she was able to pull herself out of it before going too far… Does that count for anything, really? Maybe it does. Jon certainly seems to think so. He stays where he is, resting his full weight against her, unapologetic and seemingly unbothered. Doesn’t leave or say anything for the time she needs to settle down, minutes that pass slow and easy. Daisy can feel the way he relaxes in degrees as they sit in silence on the bed. After a few minutes, he sighs in the way that tells her he’s sleepy. 

“You should go to bed,” Daisy says. “It’s been a rough night.” 

Jon sits up, pulling away from her to frown at the clock on his wall. Then those eyes are on her again, and there’s not a scrap of fear to be seen. “Will you stay?” 

“...I don’t know. Do you want me to?” 

“I’d rather you did. But… only if you’re comfortable. Do you have the morning shift tomorrow?” 

“Evening.”

“Alright, good. We can talk more about this in the morning, if you feel up for it. Maybe work on some boundary things.” 

At last, Daisy feels light enough to smirk, one corner of her mouth twitching. “You just like negotiating,” she teases. “It’s your kink.”

“It’s not a kink!” 

“Gets you all excited. You’re such a nerd.” 

Jon crosses his arms and pouts at her. The best part is that it’s genuine. “Are you staying or not?” 

“...Sure. I’ll stay.” 

The disgruntled expression disappears, and Jon smiles at her. “Good. I’m going to shower then.” 

“Alright.”

Jon disappears down the hall to his bathroom. On the bed, Daisy sprawls and stares at the ceiling. She listens to the sounds of the birds and cars outside, and to the muffled din of the shower, and the low melody of Jon humming. She counts her breaths and listens to the possibility of something better.

**Author's Note:**

> CWs/Summary:
> 
> > a fatphobic comment triggers daisy's violent thoughts/spiral  
> > violent mental imagery directed at herself and others  
> > daisy agrees to meet with jon knowing full well things will probably go badly  
> > a brief flashback depicting the start of jon and daisy's d/s relationship; she ends up hitting him out-of-scene, and they stop seeing each other for a month before jon reaches out to reconcile  
> > daisy initiates rough sex with jon (level of negotiation is left off-screen/ambiguous)  
> > daisy's thoughts spiral into a very bad/violent place while she's fucking jon  
> > daisy uses her safeword and slips into a panic attack, which jon helps ease her out of  
> > jon asks daisy to stay and they talk about what happened 
> 
> if you read through and think there's anything else major that i missed and should probably be mentioned/tagged for, please let me know. 
> 
> but i hope you all enjoyed! i'd love, love to receive any and all comments from you guys, and thanks to anyone who has been keeping up with the series <3 here's hoping i can work on the next part soon~ 
> 
> _“Honey, can you see  
>  Bloodstains on my teeth  
> I’m not the beast I used to be”_ \- Happiness Will Ruin This Place by San Fermin


End file.
